


i guess i kinda like the way you helped me escape

by byesexualniall



Series: we're alright together [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byesexualniall/pseuds/byesexualniall
Summary: "And half of Niall’s brain is telling him should feel stupid, screaming at him, calling him selfish, ungrateful, undeserving—but then there’s the other half, where Harry is rubbing his thumb back and forth on Niall’s hip and chewing his lip while he waits and he’s gentle and soft and he did all this for Niall and it doesn’t fix everything, like. Doesn’t make the anxiety completely go away, or make Niall think things are going to be okay forever. But he can cling to it, fall into it, feel safe in it, in Harry, for now, at the very least."or: another sneak peek into Niall and Harry's relationship, pre Harry leaving, in We're Alright Together. or: my personal headcanon on howthispic came to be.





	i guess i kinda like the way you helped me escape

February 2016.

It’s still something Niall has to get used to, waking up with Harry. Waking up to Harry. Waking up, right now, to the feeling of Harry’s lips at his ear, his hands on his hips, his voice, low, rattling around the inside of his heart, settling into the crooks of his skin. 

“Wake up, love,” Harry’s saying, his thumb rubbing circles into Niall’s naked hip. “Open your eyes.” 

Niall’s exhausted, though, feels like the bed is pulling him in, the duvet anchoring him down, the darkness blanketing him, pulling his eyelids closed, keeping him right here, under Harry, in his bed. All he can do is hum and try to roll over, try to bury his head in Harry’s chest, to get him to go back to sleep, too. He can’t even figure out why he’s so tired—they didn’t go to bed that late last night, were up until one, maybe, having sex, before they fell asleep tangled up in each other. But it feels like he’s only just closed his eyes.

“‘M so tired,” Niall manages. He cracks one eye open and finds Harry, there, hovering over him, a smile on his face, his hair pulled back into a bun. He’s going to have to cut it soon, Niall knows, for the movie. “Time is it?”

“Five in the morning,” says Harry, dimple digging into his cheek. “You gotta get up.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“Come on, get up,” Harry tugs at his hips, trying to drag Niall out of bed. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

“Is this some weird sex thing, Harry? Because I’m really tired, don’t even think I could get it up right now.” 

Harry snorts out a laugh, shaking his head in the darkness of Niall’s bedroom. It might as well be their bedroom, Harry spends so much time here these days. That thought wakes Niall up, a little. “It’s not a weird sex thing, Niall. Come on, I laid out some clothes for you. If you get up right now you’ll have enough time to brush your teeth before the driver gets here.”

It’s been two months of this, him and Harry. Two months since Harry came over, a few days after the New Year, a wild look on his face and a confession of love on his lips. Two months since they decided, tears in their eyes, to give this a go. Two months, now, of NiallandHarry. Niall’s learned, already, in just two months, not to ask questions when Harry sets his mind on something. 

It feels nearly impossible, dragging himself out of bed. But Harry really has laid clothes out for him—a pair of joggers, like he knew Niall wouldn’t be able to wrangle himself into skinny jeans this early in the morning, some trainers, a t-shirt, and a denim jacket. He even chose socks and a pair of boxers for Niall, and Niall doesn’t mind, really, being told what to do when it’s Harry. 

Harry’s puttering around in the other room while Niall gets dressed and brushes his teeth. It sounds like he’s gathering things together, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of a suitcase rolling over the hardwood floors of his hallway and Niall spits into the sink, rinses his mouth quickly, anxiety setting in, before he pops his head around the door and calls out, “what the fuck is going on, Harry?” 

“Don’t worry!” Harry sounds far away, even though he’s just out in the hall. It’s remarkable how quickly Niall’s gotten attached like this. “It’s all under control!” 

Anxiety is starting to boil in Niall’s stomach, though, heating up his body in that familiar, unmistakable way, his fingers automatically coming to tug at his hair, pick at his lip, his heart working its way up, up, up, up to his throat, jackhammering the whole way. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on, not having a say in the plans, not being able to lay things out, carefully, considerately, ahead of time. He likes an itinerary, Niall, and he knows he’s always safe with Harry, deep down, but he’s not in control right now and that—

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is soft, low, in that space that Niall knows, now, is just for him. When Niall looks into the mirror above the sink he sees Harry standing behind him at the bathroom door, eyebrows knit together in concern, sunglasses pushing back his long hair. “Are you okay?” 

Niall manages a deep breath, locking eyes with Harry in the mirror. Just the sight of Harry allows Niall to relax a little, lets him lower his shoulders a little, unclench his jaw, drop his hand from his mouth, his nails lightly bitten. “Yeah,” he says. 

Harry’s still got a frown plastered to his face, though, and Niall’s eyes unfocus as he follows Harry’s reflection in the mirror until he’s standing behind him, sliding his hands around Niall’s middle, warm, soft, strong. Safe. “You’re lying to me.” 

“No, ‘m not,” Niall’s offended, for a second, but Harry cuts him off. 

“I want you to tell me, like,” they’re still looking at each other in the mirror, Niall can see the way his own cheeks are flushed with anxious energy, the way Harry’s chin is resting on the top of his head, “when you’re feeling anxiety. I can tell, usually, but I want to… if you’re honest with me, maybe I can be more help? I know I don’t feel anxiety the same way you do, or as much as you do, but I want you to be comfortable. With me. If that’s… is that okay?” 

And the words settle over Niall slowly, like honey into tea, like the way it feels when Harry’s opening him up with his fingers, asking him for more, and it hurts, a little, it burns, but it feels so good that he chases it, braces down on it, nearly cries for more of it. It’s like that, except with emotions, this time. 

“I—” Niall clears his throat, eyes still locked on Harry’s in the mirror. He watches his own Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and says, “that’s really kind of you, Harry.” 

“I’m not being kind. I mean it.” 

“If I told you every time I was feeling anxious,” Niall aims for levity, “it would be the only thing we ever talk about.” 

“That’s alright,” Harry shrugs, as best he can with his arms wrapped around Niall’s middle still, one palm pressed flat to his stomach, on top of his t-shirt. “I don’t want you to feel alone. If you’re feeling something, I wanna feel it too.” 

“Harry, that’s ridiculous. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to—” 

“The only thing that wouldn’t be fair would be me, leaving you to have an anxiety attack all on your own. This is important to me, Niall. You’re important to me.” 

“I wasn’t gonna have a full blown panic attack, don’t be ridiculous. I was just getting all worked up, it was stupid, but I’ll be fine.” 

“It’s not stupid. Can you tell me what was getting you anxious? That way I know, for next time.” 

He doesn’t want to offend Harry, is the thing. He’s got something up his sleeve, it’s obvious, and Niall’s gone and ruined it now, by getting all anxious over nothing, over not having a fucking schedule, all because he can’t go with the flow like a normal human being. But Harry’s thumb is rubbing circles on his skin, now, Harry’s snuck his hand up under his shirt, and he can feel Harry all around him, all over him, and it’s just too easy, when Harry’s all warm and soft and pliant like this, to start talking. 

“I heard you with the suitcase out in the hall and I just got anxious because, I mean, where are we going? Why do we need a suitcase? When are we coming back? I’ve got a meeting next week and I can’t miss it and I’ve not told my parents or Mully or Tara I’m going anywhere and what if something happens and what if I had a pet? We’d need to feed it, if I did. What are we gonna do when we get wherever we’re going, too? Do we have a schedule? Because, I,” he remembers to take a deep breath, then, lets his feelings settle him his stomach, “I told you. It’s stupid.” 

Harry makes a soft humming noise in Niall’s ear and he feels even stupider, for a second, as if Harry’s pitying him or something, and suddenly it’s horror, terror, that Harry thinks he’s a dumbass, a buzzkill, ruining a great surprise with ridiculous, unfounded anxiety. He’s going to lose Harry, he’s so sure of it—but then Harry is in front of him, one hand on either side of him, and he’s saying something, Niall has to tune back in, un-fuzz his brain, to catch it. 

“I’m really sorry,” is what Harry’s saying when Niall focuses, “I should’ve thought ahead, should’ve realized how upsetting it could be to spring something like this on you. I wasn’t thinking, and I’m sorry. Should I—what can I do next? Do you want me to tell you what I’ve got planned?” 

Niall feels, for half a second, like this is a joke. Then, he wonders if he’s high. Then, he says, “what?” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats. His hands are big and steady on Niall’s hips. “I wasn’t thinking. I got too excited about the surprise, and I should’ve thought before I did all this.”

“No,” Niall shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I got all anxious and it ruined your surprise. You’re just trying to do something nice for me, pet, I—I’m sorry.” 

Harry matches the way Niall shook his head before, a strand of hair falling loose from his bun. He’s so beautiful, like this, every way, weak, struggling morning sun streaming in through the skylight in Niall’s ensuite bathroom, Harry’s hair a fiery gold where the sun hits it, a tiny red prick on his chin, where he must’ve snagged himself shaving. Niall feels his heart expanding in his chest, like when you take a deep breath after a tense movie, like when you stretch after a long time cramped in a car. “You didn’t ruin anything,” Harry’s saying, while Niall admires him like it’s his job. “I should’ve been more thoughtful. I just had this idea, I know the cold’s been getting to you, how dreary and everything it’s been here lately. I booked us a trip to Portugal. Just for a few days. We’ll be back on Wednesday, I knew about your meeting.” 

And half of Niall’s brain is telling him he should feel stupid, screaming at him, calling him selfish, ungrateful, undeserving—but then there’s the other half, where Harry is rubbing his thumb back and forth on Niall’s hip and chewing his lip while he waits and he’s gentle and soft and he did all this for Niall and it doesn’t fix everything, like. Doesn’t make the anxiety completely go away, or make Niall think things are going to be okay forever. But he can cling to it, fall into it, feel safe in it, in Harry, for now, at the very least. 

“You didn’t have to—Harry,” is what he manages. He feels like he might cry if he says anymore, and that would be worse. 

Harry’s dimple gets deeper as he leans in closer, lips coming to press a small, sweet kiss to Niall’s nose. “I wanted to. The driver is here, and I hired a jet, it’s waiting at the airport. But I can cancel it now, if you don’t want to go. It’s all up to you, love.” 

He means it, is the thing. Niall can tell. 

“I’ll go on one condition,” Niall says, lips catching Harry’s for a quick kiss. Harry hums a question against his mouth, and Niall pulls back to look him in the eyes and say, “only if you packed those teeny yellow swimming bottoms I like so much.”

\-- 

On the jet, Harry syncs their Google Calendars, so they always know about each other’s meetings when making plans. Then, he slaps on a facemask, and swipes the extra goo on his hands all over Niall’s face. Niall squirms and laughs and Harry kisses the goo away, lips puckering at the taste of it, trying not to laugh right into Niall’s mouth. And Niall cuddles into Harry, happiness warm and rushing through his body, wriggles his toes in his sneakers, and closes his eyes. 

\-- 

Harry did bring the bathing suit, thank god, and it’s soaking wet on the bathroom floor of their hotel suite, now, while Harry hops around the room trying to wrangle his long legs into his tiny skinny jeans. Niall’s sprawled out on the bed, so big, his skin still baked warm from a day in the sun, red blotches of burn making their way to the surface ever so slowly. It’s not fair, he thinks lightly, watching as Harry does up the bottom two buttons of his sheer white top, how Harry tans so beautifully and he burns like a clown. 

He feels so good, fucked out from earlier, sun-tired and warm all over. This morning feels so far away, a panic attack in the bathroom, a facemask on the jet. All there is now is Harry, and the sun, and maybe there’s no difference, Niall thinks, when Harry climbs on top of him, elbows and knees everywhere, and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“You too tired to go for a drink?” Harry asks. The sun is setting outside, just barely peeking out over the horizon, winking away the dregs of the day. He’s tired, been awake for well over 15 hours now, but the thought of a nightcap with Harry, the thought of a tipsy Harry, clinging to him on the way back up to the room—Niall can’t resist it. 

“Maybe just the hotel bar?” He asks, and Harry says, “great minds think alike,” before rolling off the bed so Niall can get dressed. 

Harry packed for him, last night after he fell asleep, so Niall’s quietly stunned to find actual coordinating outfits in his case, not just a haphazard assortment of clothes. He pulls out a patterned trouser, dark blue, and a thin jumper, too, for the bite of the air-con in this hotel. Harry sits back on their bed, hands behind him, and watches, no shame, as Niall dresses himself. 

“Just one drink,” Harry says, standing up. He’s behind Niall in seconds, wrapping his arms around his middle, hands pushing Niall’s out of the way so he can do up his fly for him, can button Niall’s trousers with practiced fingers, with lips at his neck. “You’re tired.” 

Niall hums, presses back lightly into Harry’s hips, smiles to himself at the way Harry slides one hand down his front. But then he turns around, hands coming to fiddle with the buttons on Harry’s shirt, and presses a kiss to his lips, as long and slow as their day has been. 

They snog in the elevator, fourteen stories down, hands everywhere, no rush. The hotel bar is dark and quiet and no one bothers them when Harry orders two jack and cokes, extra lime for himself. He charges it to the room and Niall finds them a table, perching himself sideways on a wooden chair, legs crossed, elbows on his knee. 

“You look like a tired businessman,” Harry says when he returns with the drinks. They’re sweating condensation, and the cool water feels nice against Niall’s warm skin. “It’s sexy.” 

“You gonna leave me for some CEO?” Niall asks. The drink is good, enough whiskey to bite, to go straight to his stomach. “Some wanker in a suit with a cell phone glued to his ear who fucks you in his giant office, overlooking London?”

“I feel like you’ve thought about this before,” Harry smiles. He’s downed half his drink already. Maybe it’ll be more than one tonight. “I should start keeping a notebook of your kinks.” 

“God,” Niall shakes his head, “please don’t. Imagine if someone found that.” 

“There’s nothing that embarrassing,” Harry pauses for dramatic effect, then raises his eyebrows, “that I know of, at least.” 

“You’re a menace, you know that?” 

Harry finishes off the last of his drink, starts chewing on the ice. “You love it,” he says, round a mouthful.

It’s the alcohol, Niall tells himself, that’s pulling this painfully huge smile out of him. He’s sure he looks a fool, beaming at Harry, half a drink in his hand, hair sweaty, sunburn blossoming on his skin. But Harry’s looking back at him with reverent eyes, the kind he used to make, way back when, on stage, when there were hundreds of thousands of people in the room but Harry was the only one who was real. He can do that anywhere, Niall knows now—make it feel like he’s the only person who’s real. 

“Thank you,” Niall says. “For this trip. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.” 

Harry shrugs. He’s done with his ice now, too. “It’s just as much for me as it is for you, love. I like spending time like this, you and me. Where no one can find us.” He kicks one leg forward gently, knocking Niall’s foot with his own. It’s like playing footsie with a crush under the table at a bowling rink, except he gets to take Harry home. Every night, forever. His stomach is doing flips. 

“Do you want to head back up?” Harry asks. Niall looks down, realizes he’s finished his drink. He didn’t even notice. “Mr. CEO?”

####

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! thank you so, so, so, so much for reading this! 
> 
> i suppose the prequel to 'we're alright together' that i've been planning is turning more into a series of little one-shots of what niall and harry were like before. this is one of those moments. i'm taking these little one shots and stringing them all together in my head, too, so they all kind of set each other up and plant little seeds for what's to come. i hope that's okay!
> 
> thank you so much to sarah, natalie, and meike for taking a look at this for me before I posted it (and you too, lillie!) you are the best ones of the best ones.
> 
> i'm working on a few longer fics, too! if you want to talk fic, or narry, or anything, you can find me on [tumblr!](http://byesexualniall.tumblr.com/tagged/x) thank you, again. this means the world to me.


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